Synchronously Surviving
by luvtheheaven
Summary: A collection of moments in Peeta & Haymitch's lives, as the men reflect—on each other, on their circumstances, & on their emotions. A series of separate scenes which serve to fill-in-the-blanks of canon, practically & emotionally—scenes that never could've been in the book because 1) they are not scenes Katniss witnessed and because 2) she's not inside either of these guys' heads.


_**Author's Note:** During the summer of 2018, I finally read the three The Hunger Games books for the first time as a 28-year-old adult. The books came out when I was busy in my college years as an undergrad and had stopped reading any books. But I listened to the audiobooks actually, borrowed from my local library, finally this year and I loved them so much. I have been participating in pod-together as a writer every year for 4 years now, and this 4th time around I also performed one podfic in The Fosters fandom, and tried the podficcing side of the partnerships... but I still wrote something for pod-together this year too! This fic here below. It was a great experience, getting a chance to write Peeta & Haymitch gen as my first forray into the fandom. Almost simulataneously, I edited a fanvideo on YouTube – youtube DOT com/watch?v=fYXcDPkcWfs __(title on YouTube "_ _Multi-Fandom Characters - "I don't want to live to waste another day" (TQC)" and from user luvtheheaven5)_ _which is about 8 characters who deal with a lot of trauma and stuff and one of those characters was Katniss from the films – because I also watched the The Hunger Games four films over the course of me writing this story below and just... Anyway I'm really happy to be here in this fandom. I listened to the audiobooks again, and looked through paperback copies of the book and through The Hunger Games wiki, all in an effort to help me with the concept and the details within this particular story. I wanted to do this fandom and these wonderful characters of Peeta and Haymitch justice._

 _The podfic was created by Night_Inscriber, and the cover art you see here on FFN is actually made by her too! Please listen to the podfic – it's like an audiobook made for fanfiction – if you can. It's on Archive of Our Own under the same title (Synchronously Surviving) and both me (luvtheheaven) and Night_Inscriber as authors. This was a joint project for a challenge and this fic wouldn't exist without her beta-ing, cheerleading, brainstorming, and more, and I hope you like both the story below and the audio version of it! She added music and special FX to it too if you are interested in that addition to this story._

* * *

Peeta woke with a start, his heart pounding. The nightmare replayed vividly for him as he caught his breath.

It was pitch black—the dead of night. His breathing seemed amplified in the quiet darkness—there were no other sounds except for the quiet hum of his recently installed refrigerator and the ticking of a grandfather clock in the other room.

It was still less than a week into his new life where he resided in the Victors' Village. He didn't think he could handle this pattern continuing, where the nightmares were getting more intense each night. The one he just experienced had featured Haymitch Abernathy in a starring role; "mentor" had become "monster".

Not that many weeks ago, when Peeta had left the Justice Building, heading toward the train that would bring them all to the Capitol, he had been devastated. He'd truly believed he'd never see his family again. It had hurt so deeply. Haymitch was their district's victor, and he'd purchased bread from the Mellark bakery before, so Peeta recognized him. But he hadn't properly met the man till that day.

Although, really, could anyone call it a proper meeting? Shaking hands while Peeta had been so distraught that tears blurred his vision. Meanwhile, the other man had been so hammered that he'd already fallen off the stage at the reaping, and rather than actually engage in conversation with his two new mentees, he'd announced he was going to 'get a few hours of shut-eye'.

That night, after he'd purposefully shattered Haymitch's glass and then gotten punched in the face for it, Peeta had volunteered to help Haymitch into the shower, discarding his vomit soaked clothing and sharing uncomfortable intimacy with a man who wouldn't remember it in the morning.

 _This_ night, Peeta's subconscious had conjured up images of Haymitch's naked form in the arena with him. A naked Haymitch cutting off Peeta's leg the way Cato almost did.

The next chapter Peeta could recall from the nightmare was when Naked Haymitch was apparently running away from the muttations without any of Cato's body armor, nor anything else, as protection. Beast teeth still sunk into Peeta's flesh in his dream, a fairly accurate reliving of the terror and pain when he'd been escaping with Katniss into a tree. But unlike in what had transpired in reality, in the dream Haymitch all of a sudden stopped running and turned around, miraculously calming the mutts with just his voice. _How could Haymitch have won his own games all those years ago? Outsmarted all the other tributes,_ he'd concluded during that conversation in the cave with Katniss. And here in the nightmare, he was even smart enough to outsmart the beasts…

Peeta tried to remember that when Haymitch had come to his hospital room and seen that he'd lost his leg, Haymitch had been genuinely kind and offered to introduce him to his friend Chaff, a fellow amputee from District 11.

Peeta made a conscious effort to push away the dream version of the memory, where Haymitch was disappointed he hadn't bled to death. But this was difficult, because another aspect of the dream included that he'd only found out via accidental eavesdropping that Haymitch, now fully clothed and not an enemy in the arena but rather his mentor again, had only been pretending to care about him. That it was all a lie, for the cameras, just like Katniss's affections.

In his nightmare, Haymitch still might've acted like he was happy to see Peeta alive, but it would all be part of his cunning evil genius.

Sighing, Peeta reached for his prosthetic, and then adjusted it enough to be able to carefully get out of bed. He grabbed his cane to help him navigate through the darkness, still not used to how to walk.

He knew what was real and what wasn't. He knew the situation with Katniss was very different. She hadn't been trying to hurt him—much to the contrary! And no one else had been lying for the cameras, and for the Capitol. Not even his mentor who had somehow won a Quarter Quell game with double the number of tributes he had needed to either kill or outlast. No…

Haymitch was a good man. Peeta knew that, and that was why the dream had been so profoundly unsettling. Peeta knew Haymitch had had no choice but to anticipate that Katniss was the tribute with better odds of surviving, and to throw his support more behind her than him. But when Haymitch _did_ have a choice? He did everything he could to save Peeta as well, and he had been so… genuinely relieved to see him alive after it had all concluded. Peeta had felt more joy exuding from this man that day than he later did from his own mother when he was back in District 12 and in her embrace. It wasn't mere politeness, and there were no cameras in that hospital room. Haymitch was overcome with real relief. Of course he was. It was the first year in decades Haymitch didn't have to go to funerals for both tributes from District 12. Of course he would rather both his tributes live.

Peeta had reached his kitchen and turned on the lights. He turned on the faucet to fill a glass with cold water. Haymitch was a survivor of so much. It was going to be Peeta's turn to be a mentor in less than a year. He wondered if the nightmares would keep getting worse. He wondered if he'd ever actually get enough sleep to feel rested again. He wondered if even he might succumb to the bottle as a means to cope.

Guilt shot through Peeta as he remembered how he'd laughed at Haymitch's alcoholism for all those years before his own name had been chosen in the reaping. Peeta should never have judged the man. He should always have had so much more sympathy.

He'd make up for it now. Peeta took a sip from his glass and internally vowed to be the best neighbor and friend possible.

* * *

"Checkmate," Haymitch quietly declared.

The boy kept finding ways to surprise him. It was very windy outside, likely because a rainstorm was heading toward them. Peeta and Haymitch had opted to stay indoors and pass the time playing chess, something the two of them had never done before. Now that they had finished a game, Haymitch realized Peeta's moves had each been quite predictable, but that in itself had been unexpected. Haymitch fixed his gaze on him. Why had Haymitch been anticipating a difficult game?

"I used to play with my brothers. They would always beat me too," Peeta admitted.

Haymitch's eyes involuntarily darted across the room toward the partially consumed liquor bottle, but he willed himself to return his focus to Peeta. "Maybe you should introduce me to one of them," he joked lightly. "I could spend an afternoon with a potentially _worthy_ opponent."

He could tell he said the wrong thing, though, because some kind of unhappiness flickered across the boy's face. He was pretty sure that Peeta wasn't feeling insulted, just… not planning that introduction any time in the near future. Peeta certainly had a complicated relationship with his family, and Haymitch was curious to understand more. But he was too inebriated at this particular moment to figure out how to ask. Moving around rooks and bishops was a much easier task than initiating an emotionally fraught conversation.

Peeta, however, apparently had no such difficulties, as he then asked, "Did you have any siblings?"

"Yeah, I did." Haymitch closed his eyes and listened as his house shuddered, affected by the currents of air outside. "One brother. His name was Barnaby." The answer had slipped out before he'd had time to decide whether he resented the question, or appreciated that for the first time in years, someone actually cared to know.

"I wish I could have met him," Peeta replied.

Gosh, the boy was always so earnest. Haymitch felt a pang of long forgotten grief for the brother whose life ended before it had really begun, dead at just thirteen-years-old, and he smiled.

Peeta was gathering up the pieces and folding up the board, tidying it up completely unnecessarily—the rest of the house was in a perpetual state of disorganized chaos. But Haymitch didn't quite have the energy to protest. He observed everything in comfortable silence as Peeta, no longer needing his cane, walked over to the cabinet from which he'd retrieved the board earlier in the afternoon, and put it away.

Looking past him, Haymitch saw through the window that a few autumn leaves were moving through the air. The most recent gust of wind must have shaken them loose. It was now October; three months past the conclusion of the 74th Hunger Games, and three months past when Haymitch had expected to attend Peeta Mellark's funeral. Haymitch was a man who didn't usually like surprises, but he could get used to Peeta's style of surprising him. He still woke up some mornings hardly daring to believe that this reality wasn't just a wishful dream. But even when he pinched himself, it remained true.

* * *

Mayor Undersee and his wife looked overcome with love and joy in their wedding photos, Peeta observed. As the orchestra members who had traveled in from the Capitol rehearsed their music behind a closed door on the other end of the upstairs hallway, Peeta was standing in front of the pictures, feeling envious and heartbroken. Surely Peeta's own wedding photos would give off the same impression of happiness when the time came, but that happiness wouldn't be real. _How could this all be happening?_

He jerked when a hand on his shoulder startled him.

"Relax! It's just me," Haymitch said with a half-chuckle. Peeta didn't relax. "Seriously; it's not like I'm about to congratulate you on the engagement."

Peeta scoffed. "Yeah, well, everyone else probably will."

His former mentor seemed to be sizing him up before he replied, "Well, Gale probably won't."

 _Really? Haymitch wanted to joke about that?_ Peeta scowled at him. District 12's Harvest Festival still had an hour before it would begin. He didn't want to spend all that time being teased about sore subjects.

Haymitch softened when he realized how upset Peeta still was.

"If it helps, I told her she could do a lot worse," he offered.

Peeta let out a mirthless laugh.

Haymitch continued, "I know, I know, she shouldn't have to be told."

Peeta didn't know what to say.

One part of him did appreciate how much Haymitch knew and understood. Haymitch had noticed his feelings for Katniss without him even having to say a word, all the way back before his first interview with Caesar Flickerman. Haymitch had been the one to come up with the idea to use the crush to his advantage, to win over the hearts of sponsors with a tragic tale. But Haymitch had also... respected the crush. They'd spent hours together that day where Haymitch had seemed to take him so seriously, more like an equal than a child.

Haymitch teasing him right now felt like a betrayal, because Haymitch had in the past always treated him and his fantasies as something serious.

So the other part of Peeta was stuck in all of those feelings of betrayal. Peeta had already been feeling betrayed to know that Haymitch had known about President Snow's visit and threats to Katniss and kept him in the dark. He'd also never fully let go of feeling resentful that Haymitch had tried harder to save Katniss's life—Haymitch apparently had not even _thought_ about the possibility of saving him. Now, he felt like Haymitch wasn't his friend, nor on his side at all, if he would joke about Gale at a time like this.

Peeta looked at Haymitch and took a breath to ground himself. He needed to maintain perspective.

Quietly, he asked, "Why didn't you ever get married?"

Haymitch sighed and took his own good look at the mayor's main wedding portrait. Peeta realized that people in District 12, especially people from The Seam like Haymitch originally had been, might not always even have friends who owned a camera and therefore might not end up with any wedding photos at all, but the mayor had possessed the resources and connections to have a large number taken and digitally printed and framed. Haymitch, still staring at just the one photograph, seemed to be collecting his thoughts. The stringed instruments kept playing in preparation for the party, live music, far too joyous a piece for the way Peeta felt in this moment.

"No one would want to marry a drunk like me," Haymitch finally replied, lightly. His smile seemed to possibly be forced as he looked back into Peeta's eyes.

Peeta frowned at the attempt at self-deprecating humor. Haymitch was avoiding giving a truthful answer. But Peeta considered the words seriously for a moment, nonetheless. Could Peeta imagine any of the women from District 12 who were within a decade of Haymitch's age wanting to marry someone who's dependency on alcohol was nationally known? Well, probably not. But had Haymitch been interested in finding a lasting romantic partnership, he could have at least _tried_ to kick that habit at some point in Peeta's lifetime. Instead, all Peeta could remember was Haymitch all-but bragging on television about how smashed he was at any given moment.

"Kid," Haymitch continued, gently, glancing between Peeta and the photographs, "You and Katniss; you'll be okay."

Peeta could hear how deeply he meant it, how sure he was of it. Haymitch truly believed that in the long run, being married would not feel like something they'd been forced into because of the Capitol. Peeta tried to convince himself it was true.

Haymitch repeated himself, reaching out this time and touching Peeta's shoulder. "You'll be okay."

* * *

It had been less than twenty-four hours since Peeta had uttered "Take care, Haymitch" in the midst of a farewell hug.

Was this really _it_?

Katniss's hysterical wails pierced through the speakers in the mentors' viewing room within The Capitol training center. The sound certainly revealed how fearful she was that Peeta was dead. With his eyes transfixed on the scene, Haymitch held his breath. The musical score behind the scene of the group walking had shifted into poignant silence, allowing the true tension of the moment to reverberate within the rooms of viewers across the entire country.

Haymitch hadn't prepared Peeta to learn how to swim, even when Plutarch Heavensbee had warned him of the water-centric arena. Instead, Haymitch placed far too many of his chips in the basket named Finnick so as to not tip the boy off to the rebellion plans. He had been extremely fortunate that so far, Katniss hadn't killed their District 4 ally. Now, it seemed Finnick was their last hope for saving Peeta's life. Haymitch didn't know how to perform that resuscitation technique Finnick was currently using, and Katniss also hadn't seemed to recognize it despite having grown up in the home of a healer. Possibly, Finnick was the only person in that arena who had the skill to restart Peeta's heart.

Haymitch was so extremely _tired_ of being trapped helplessly on the other side of this screen. His life had accumulated far too many of these moments for him to keep count, usually related to experiences watching the Games. He had also felt it at this 3rd Quarter Quell's reaping, each new name drawn from the reaping ball feeling like a friend of his receiving terminal diagnosis from a healer. Each shot of anticipatory grief pierced into him that night, stuck inside him and never leaving, weighty burdens that he knew would not begin to lighten until each died.

Today, within the past few hours, he'd watched multiple people he respected and cared for die violent, horrifically unfair deaths, while he sat here on a plush couch with the other victors who weren't in the arena. And now, as Katniss continued crying and screaming, his heart ached in a new direction. He was struck by how deeply he wanted to wrap her in his arms and comfort the girl. He knew when he lost people, being utterly alone in the initial trauma made it all so much harder. And not only could he not save Peeta right now, he was also impossibly separated from being able to help _her_ , too.

He turned his gaze down and away from Peeta's limp form, wishing he could simply will himself to not care. Peeta had been going into these games planning to die anyway. Peeta somehow had made peace with that, and had even written a letter saying goodbye to everyone he cared for back in District 12. But even in Peeta's first games, Haymitch hadn't been able to handle seeing the boy camouflaging himself on the camera as he bled to death. Utter fear for Peeta's life had been his instinctual, immediate reaction when Peeta revealed he'd painted the image of Rue covered in flowers for the gamemakers this time around. Like it or not, Peeta was family to him at this point. He'd loved his sweetheart back when he was younger than Peeta—loved her deeply—but even her death hadn't hurt the way he knew at this point in his life Peeta's would. And he didn't know how he or Katniss would survive if Peeta didn't start breathing again any second now.

He also felt a twinge of anger at Peeta, for his stupidity when it came to the force field. Haymitch was well aware Peeta had eventually seen the footage of how he'd secured the victory in the 2nd Quarter Quell, despite the Capitol not wanting the youth of today to have any inkling. He just desperately wished that boy, the boy who had insisted (like a true _bastard_ ) on dumping out all his liquor and trying to teach him how to throw knives, had been more… cautious. But it was a pointless, far too late, wish.

Haymitch heard the music swell, implying something significant had changed, and he looked back at the screen. Finnick made a comment about Katniss and her supposed pregnancy hormones. Peeta… was alive. And Haymitch? Haymitch smiled for a moment, until the truth of how danger still lurked behind every single corner came back to him.

* * *

Peeta remembered when Gale had been tortured nearly to death with whips in the square.

He remembered watching filmed recaps of when Katniss had become a true 'girl on fire', flames leaving painful wounds where skin had once been.

He remembered a teenage Haymitch holding onto his intestines with his bare hands.

Some things people can't unsee. Can't unknow. Can't not feel fairly traumatized by afterward, even when they have nothing to do with one's own physical safety.

But somehow, these horrific Peacedestroyers were able to cause other people's trauma without flinching. (Even in his own thoughts, he _refused_ to call these evil men by the official misnomer. However, he realized Darius had been a good one, a Peacekeeper who always actually wanted the best for his district's citizens.)

Peeta brought Gale freshly baked bread, held Katniss close while she dreamed, and spent many sleepless nights in the Victors Village trying to figure out if there was anything concrete he could do to help Haymitch maybe one day stop sleeping with that awful knife. He tried to help people if he knew they were hurting. It wasn't a decision, so much as an automatic, natural consequence of witnessing this type of suffering.

But Darius had emitted guttural howls as he was electrocuted, as the men further mutilated his body, and they were torturing him only to cause _Peeta_ more torment. What did they think they were accomplishing? And why didn't Darius's life matter to them?

Peeta was still shackled and trapped. Water dripped from the ceiling like a leak they had installed on purpose just to drive him crazy. Once both avoxes had succumbed to death, and after they'd questioned him a bit more about a rebellion he knew nothing of, he had been left alone with his thoughts once again.

So much came to his mind when he thought of murder these days. He had been guilty of murdering Brutus, avenging Chaff's death. He'd done it for Haymitch. Chaff had been Haymitch's friend. Chaff didn't deserve to die, and Brutus seemed at the time like he did deserve to pay.

Did Darius seem, in the Peacedestroyers' minds, to deserve it for the sake some horrific Capitol 'greater good'?

By now, Peeta had figured out that Haymitch must've known about the plans for whatever rebellion took place, must've known for months before the rainforest games took place, but had chosen to keep him in the dark. If Peeta had known, he wouldn't have taken Brutus's life. He would've known the games would end long before only one of them was left.

He resented Haymitch for not protecting him from committing Brutus's murder.

He didn't _hate_ Haymitch, especially since Haymitch had also done a lot of positive things for him in the past year, but he was so frustrated at the whole situation. He was hurt. He had made it clear he didn't want to be kept in the dark about stuff back six months ago, during the victory tour!

And now… He was literally being kept— _locked_ —in the dark, in a prison cell. Without having been given a fair chance to try and prevent his own kidnapping.

He knew Katniss must not have known. But Haymitch…

He meant what he told Caesar Flickerman, that first week after he'd been separated from Katniss. That murdering innocent people cost _much_ more than your life. What did he think about murdering non-innocents? What did he think about what he'd done to Brutus? Brutus only killed Chaff because they were in the context of the games. Was he actually an innocent all along?

Peeta didn't know if he cared. If he had the opportunity to kill an evil Peacedestroyer, he knew he'd take it. Everything he was had already been stolen, being in those games. And now, with the torture. He would probably kill himself too if he had a chance. But... he hated the thought of giving the Capitol the satisfaction, so he wasn't sure.

One thing he'd always found interesting about Haymitch was how much he wasn't suicidal. Haymitch drank, sure, but never to the point of death. He never was too drunk to show up to the games or that tour. He probably would be killed in an "accident" if he refused to participate. He always slept with a knife—like his life mattered to him, hence the fear that someone might try to take that away.

Sleeping with a knife… Peeta felt so jealous right then. He needed one of those right now. He was exhausted. But he didn't want to fall asleep yet. He hated sleeping these days. That meant being startled awake by someone else's screams, probably Joanna's or Annie's now that Lavinia and Darius were gone, but who really knew. Maybe the Capitol would find a Jabberjay to torture him with after all, just like they'd done to Katniss and Finnick.

He wondered if Katniss was already dead. Or his family. His father was a kind enough soul, he didn't deserve any of what the Capitol could choose to do. Or Haymitch. Learning of Haymitch's torture via Jabberjay would surely break him completely. He wanted to die already. He wanted to die when Haymitch had never wanted to die, decades of kids dying and he still wanted to live but what was this, probably still less than a month in a prison cell and Peeta was hoping he could just die a simple death from psychological distress. It had to be possible to be pushed past the limit of what one's mind could survive, right?

He fell asleep despite his wish not to. Like Darius had eventually succumbed to death, he succumbed to a more temporary unconscious state. But he had a brief reprieve, for once.

Peeta dreamed of Haymitch, coming in, literally dressed as a knight in shining armor, saving him. And Annie, and Joanna. Haymitch was able to save Darius and Lavinia too! He arrived out of thin air, just smiled and thanked them all for following his advice to 'Stay Alive'.

It had been such a nice dream. Of course he didn't hate Haymitch. He could barely muster resentment for him. Sometimes, he only… missed him, dearly.

* * *

Haymitch had entered Peeta's hospital room after Peeta had first been rescued and transported to District 13, but he doubted Peeta had noticed him, seeing as Peeta had been consumed by the perception that Katniss was a threat to his life which he'd needed to extinguish.

Since then, Haymitch had seen Peeta daily—from behind a one-way mirror, and even indirectly through video recordings of Peeta's most significant… revelations. Not usually breakthroughs for the boy, but important keys to hopeful breakthroughs for the doctors. But Peeta… Peeta hadn't seen him since they'd hugged goodbye.

After the Quarter Quell, when Katniss was rescued but still unconscious and their District 13 hovercraft was already departing from the arena, Haymitch had opened the goodbye letter Peeta had left for his family. Screw the boy's privacy. There was no privacy anymore. That boy was in the Capitol's clutches after having plenty of "private" moments on live television, such as the likely embarrassment of being too weak to walk, or later his most passionate kiss of his life. And Haymitch would drive himself crazy without proof that Peeta was _strong_. Strong enough to survive this abduction and captivity. He'd known deep down the letter would contain proof to reassure him on some level. And it did. That boy had so much integrity he didn't know how it was possible, especially after he'd met the kid's not-so-loving mother.

Haymitch was staying strong for Katniss, which was indirectly for the benefit of the entire nation. The districts needed their Mockingjay. She needed Haymitch, the one other person who loved Peeta left alive on this earth, to not be completely broken. It became harder when he saw Peeta's blood splash across a screen, and even more so when they both had him back but realized the Peeta they knew was really gone for good, and not just in the way traumatic experiences always change a person, but in a deliberate, evil way he'd been re-programmed. It was downright frightening to realize this could be done to a human being, and difficult to know how much was fair to grieve and how much was necessary to hope—for Peeta's sake! For the part of him still in pain, and so much more fear than anything the rest of them could empathize with. He knew if he didn't do it, no one else would. Katniss simply was not capable.

He didn't know he could feel so full of trepidation before he entered that hospital room for a conversation with Peeta—finally, for the first time, after so very many months. He didn't want to ruin the boy's progress; he cared more about that than about how Peeta would treat him. He wasn't sure if he really should be risking this, walking toward him, but the doctors had heavily encouraged it. They'd said Peeta couldn't possibly move forward without him, and Haymitch had never shied away from that kind of responsibility being foisted upon him. So onward he stepped.

Peeta broke the silence first.

"Hi," he said cautiously. He had no idea what to expect from Haymitch.

"Hi, kid." Haymitch smiled warmly. "Mind if I sit down on your bed? It just feels so awkward standing here while you're down there."

Peeta scowled, considering the request for a moment. "Okay," he said.

Haymitch's heart swelled more than he'd ever admit, and he sat down gently, careful not to touch Peeta's legs.

"Did you lie to me?" Peeta asked accusatorily.

Haymitch tensed up. As quickly as his heart had filled with hope, it now deflated a bit.

He tried to laugh off the question with a slight chuckle. "You'll have to be a bit more specific, I guess."

"Before my second games, did you lie that you'd protect Katniss? I remember… Well, I think I remember…" Peeta faltered, clearly doubting all his memories.

Haymitch patiently, and silently, waited a few more seconds, willing him internally to go on.

In a matter-of-fact tone, he finally finished, "I think I had concluded that you must've _lied_ to either me or Katniss." He looked into Haymitch's eyes with such determination, like he could read the truth whether Haymitch chose to divulge it or not.

Haymitch pushed aside as much of his instinctual defensiveness as he could and mustered up all the remorse he'd felt over this exact topic (which was a significant amount).

He glanced away guiltily and then looked back softly into Peeta's angry eyes. "I actually didn't lie about wanting to save you," he began, hoping to win a couple sympathy points. "I kept you and her both away from too much knowledge about our rebellion, in case the worst happened." He pursed his lips tightly, exhaled, and made the tiniest movement with his hands and face in such a gesture as to imply the worst did end up happening to Peeta. So maybe, just _maybe_ , he had been right to keep them in the dark. "But yes," he continued, "I lied to you. I'm so sorry."

Peeta seemed puzzled, or conflicted in some way.

Haymitch knew he needed time to unpack his thoughts, knew how slowly he spoke in general these days, so he waited.

"Did you care that I was being tortured? Did I cross your mind?"

Haymitch's eyes widened. "Of course!" He closed his eyes and shook his head back and forth a few times, knowing he should've expected it but still not really believing he had to be asked this. "Oh, Peeta, I truly am so sorry you were captured and tortured. I thought about you every _hour_ of every day." It was so hard not to bring Katniss into this, but it was much safer not to. "I know you might not believe me, especially after whatever the Capitol filled your mind with, but you _listen_ to me. I missed you fiercely, boy."

Peeta's look transformed into one of near tears. He probably felt guilty, like it was his fault Haymitch was in pain, which was so backwards and wrong it was not funny at all.

"Yeah you really made my life a living hell. It wasn't like the Capitol had anything to do with it," he said sardonically, hoping it might cheer him up.

Peeta looked a bit taken aback, but was still registering the meaning of Haymitch's words. After a few long seconds, but before Peeta had a chance to reply, Haymitch added, "But I really gotta commend you for heeding my advice."

Peeta blinked a few times. "Your… advice?"

Haymitch smiled. "Stay alive."

Recollection dawned on Peeta's face, like their in-joke was a memory from another lifetime—which, Haymitch supposed, it was.

"It wasn't FAIR!" Peeta suddenly bellowed, righteous indignation transformed into fury. "You should have _told_ me about your rebellion plot! You should have told me _everything_! I could have handled it! They were TORTURING me for information that I _needed_ and didn't have, and it's _all your fault_ I didn't have it!"

The change from smiles to this raw expression of built up pain was giving Haymitch whiplash. He could see Peeta was on the verge of angry tears. Haymitch wasn't a crying kind of man, but even he was holding back a few.

"I… I'm sorry. None of this was fair to you." He didn't think it would be helpful to harp on about the greater good at a time like this. "I can't stop what happened to you. If I could go back in time, maybe I would! Maybe I'd come up with a better solution that… prevented all this."

Peeta nodded, like he was accepting what Haymitch was saying, and then he suddenly looked to Haymitch's left and started to breathe heavily, like he was having a panic attack spawned on by something in his hallucinations.

Trying to keep him grounded in reality, which Peeta had been so thankfully in this whole conversation thus far, Haymitch asked a question. "Is there anything at all you need from me right now? Anything that might help you in the present?" (The "even if I can't change the past" was implied.)

Peeta looked away from the weird spot of air and back toward Haymitch, but his eyes were blank.

"Maybe we could arrange to play a game of chess," he offered feebly, knowing it was not really enough.

Peeta bit his lip, ignoring that statement because he was already planning his next question. Like a little kid afraid of rejection he asked, "Could you tell me any news about what's happening outside of this room?"

And oh, gosh. What a request. Of course he was still basically in captivity and _needed_ more. But what would Peeta care about that wasn't… _too much_ for him?

He considered telling Peeta about Buttercup somehow surviving District 12, since everyone here in 13 seemed to love the cat, but he knew bringing up something so connected to both his dead family and to Katniss was probably asking for trouble. And then something hit him. Something he thought might be safe. Might be helpful.

"I… Did you see Annie while you were over there?" he asked first, carefully. He didn't want to ask him if he "met" her, because the context might have been horrific. He kinda knew Peeta had seen Annie because of all the spying on Peeta these last weeks, but he wanted Peeta to clarify the exact context.

Peeta closed his eyes. Thinking about her was causing him pain.

Haymitch instantly hated himself for bringing it up this way, so he quickly plowed ahead without waiting for the verbal affirmation. "I know you got to know Finnick in the games, as an ally. I wanted to tell you—they're getting married! They... " Now it was Haymitch's turn to falter, realizing Peeta probably wouldn't be that cheered to be reminded about a big party he wouldn't be able to attend, but Peeta was already a few steps ahead of him.

"Will they get to have like, a real wedding?" he asked, and his voice seemed full of hope like this was the best thing he could have dreamed for the closest things he had to friends.

Haymitch smiled and nodded. "We're even going to air it on television to rub our District in the Capitol's faces," he added mischievously.

Peeta smiled back and they sat there with the happy news in almost-comfortable silence, before a new thought seemed to cross Peeta's mind.

"Do you think…" he began to ask cautiously, another request it sounded like from the tone of his voice. But he cut himself off.

Haymitch would move heaven and earth for this boy, especially now that he… seemed to be almost himself again. He knew it was a trap to forget just how much he was programmed to not be on Katniss's side, which would be a danger to them all. How much harder that would be to break in him. But today had been really something.

"What is it? You should ask." Haymitch assured him.

"It's stupid, this District probably has strict rules about this stuff or someone else probably has already been offered the job, but I was just wondering… if there might be a wedding cake? And…"

Haymitch interrupted him with excitement. "Oh you definitely should do the decorating of their cake! I'll insist on it, as something good for your recovery. I won't let them say no."

Peeta laughed, the first genuine laughter he'd heard from Peeta at all since he entered District 13. "Wow, I… don't know what to say. Just… Thank you, Haymitch," he said with all the sincerity in the world.

That boy was still in there, that was for sure. Haymitch stood back up off the bed, ready to proceed on a cake-mission.

"You are still in there," he voiced, relief and affection shining through. "I knew we'd get you back," he muttered more for his own benefit than Peeta's, but he still was looking at him, through glistening eyes, and smiling warmly.

He started to turn away, and then Peeta pulled him back with one last thought.

"I would love to ice a wedding cake for you one day, if you maybe, meet someone," he said softly.

Wow. Peeta was thinking about them both surviving this war, and really moving on. Peeta was imagining a… happy (and probably sober) future for Haymitch.

"You worry about Annie and Finnick's cake," Haymitch chastised as his parting remark, turning away to hide the escape of his tears.

The only way to describe his emotional state right then was joyous, incredulous relief.


End file.
